the season melts to a crawl like a
good book and i meander in the
footnotes
in the summer of language
in the clutch of warm throats
words spread spring and unease
speaking lewd colors
unable to draw near
distanced by
stumbles dares me closer to
silence when the daylight
leans hinting of a portal
in time where a warm night shuffles
bold reso- & revo- & convo-
lutions luscious in the
graceful outlines where
you might ask me to remain
minutes beg for hours and time
snakes hungrily for more moments more
real feeling more elaborate confirmation that
this is the path of the bled discordant
struggling mad souls suffering slow
dull paycheck death and enacting
intimate skirmishes we are
counting the days
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